


There Are No Strangers On Christmas Eve

by Mandibles



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little something something for Christmas. Dave wakes up dead (heh) only to find that it's Christmas--er, 12th Perigee's Eve! But, not everyone is joining in the festivities. Not as slashy as I intended, but you can squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Are No Strangers On Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Someone stop me from writing Dave/Equius!

You first realize you’re dead when you wake to goosebumps and chattering teeth. Hell has officially frozen over, you decide, when you look out your bedroom window, your blanket pulled tight around, and see only a thicket of white. You’ve never seen snow in Texas, or at all. Shit, you can even see your breath, a white cloud like you’re a burnt-out dragon.

A crash makes you leave the scant warmth of your bed to the living room. There’s familiar boxes marked with X-MAS, an obnoxiously large fir curled over the ceiling, and a handful of bouncing candy-corn-horned beasts.

Your name is DAVE STRIDER and it is motherfucking CHRISTMAS (or TWELFTH PERIGEE'S EVE, or whatever) with the ZOMBIE TROLLS up at your place. It was kind of sudden, but you’re pretty cool with it now. Especially since the trolls are doing all the work. Despite the unanimous complaint that you don’t have the right things for their holiday, that didn’t stop them throwing tinsel this way and that with their dead eyes.

(Your eyes are probably just as white as theirs, but you haven’t gotten around to looking yet. Eh, a part of you would rather not.)

Right now they are huddled around the tree, Feferi fretting and trying to fish the whining Tavros’ horn from the Christmas lights while Vriska laughs cruelly.

You pretend not to see the high and mighty troll with the broken horn slip out from the ruckus. He’s been standoffish all . . . (Night? Day? Even harder to tell with the snow.) All the time the others were working on decorations, so you aren’t surprised when he decides to leave. Even though you barely know the bastard and care for him less, you find yourself standing from your comfy ol’ couch.

Welp, tis the season, and all that.

Something tells you to look outside and, sure enough, you can make out a dark figure through the frosted glass. You should probably pick up a jacket, but it’s a little too late, because you’re all ready opening the door. The blast of pure ball-freezing cold makes you wince, but you continue outside, ironic fuzzy bunny slippers against an icy stoop.  


(It’s strange, because you remember your apartment being on the top floor. You guess you’re glad your dream bubble skipped minor details like twelve flights of stairs.)

The figure is a whole lot clearer from out here in an empty grey city covered in white. Sweaty McHorsedick is ankle deep in snow. You shiver for him.

“Sup.”

He doesn't even flinch; you must be getting rusty. Equius’ cracked shades regard you, stubby icicles hanging from the lower frames. He folds his exposed arms.

“You.”

You snort and shove your hands in your pockets. “That any way to greet the guy who’s letting you crash at his place, eat his food, and, most importantly, use his towels.”

Equius’ face twists, then quickly eases into something unfamiliar.

“You are right, that was . . . rude. Forgive me.”

You lean against a banister, a lip quirking. “I dunno, man. I’m feeling a little wounded.” A sudden gust brings goosebumps to your arms and your frown returns. Shit, it’s cold. Gotta wrap this up. “But, I’ll get over it. What’s up with you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. Isn’t 12th Pedigree, or whatever, some kind of world holiday on your planet? With traditions and whatnot? I thought you’d be all over that.”

The troll does this weird thing with his face again. “It isn’t important.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. You don’t have to tell me. Just get back inside, all right? S’freezing.”

Equius stares at you for a moment, before returning to the endless stretch of white. If it wasn’t so cold, you would take time to be fascinated by a snow-blanketed Houston, but, _fuck_ , you can’t feel your face anymore. When you finally decide to just leave the bastard to freeze, he opens his mouth.

“It’s strange.”

You quirk your brow, but as you don’t interrupt, he continues.

“This will be my first 12th Perigee's Eve without my lusus.”

“Your—oh.” Troll parent things. Right.

Your stomach sinks when it hits you.

This will be your first Christmas without Bro since, well, ever. It’s bad enough that it almost physically hurt when you realized that your brother didn’t end up in your dream bubble as the trolls did. There’s a puppet-shaped hole somewhere in your chest that you couldn’t bring yourself to address, especially with a bunch of holiday-crazed trolls running around your apartment, until now.

“I get it,” you say quietly. Equius looks to you questioningly, and, with a frown, you notice the blue-tinged puffiness in his eyes. Shit. You didn’t mean to catch him at such a vulnerable state; you aren’t that much of a dick. “I lost my Bro, too.”

Equius blinks. “Bro . . . Was this “bro” your lusus?”

“What? I mean, yeah.” You rub at your arms. “I guess you could say that.”

“It is . . . difficult.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

Silence falls over you. You wonder if he’s fighting off memories of his lusus as you are your brother. You wonder when you realized you could have anything in common with Horsefreak. Not for the first time in your life, you’re grateful for your shades.

The crunch of snow and ice returns your attention to the troll who is all the more closer. You realize that you’re the same height when he’s two steps below you.

“What are you—”

“Perhaps we should comfort each other.”

You snort at the offer, but Equius’ silence confirms his honesty. That only makes it funnier.

“Pff, look, I’m not into the whole bucket thing, all right?”

The response is instantaneous, with the flushed cheeks and the beads of sweat collecting on a grey forehead.

“That’s incredibly l00d! I would never suggest such a thing!”

“Then, what?”

Equius rubs his neck, his eyes glancing away. “My moirail Nepeta and I had feeling jams occasionally. I find them very helpful so I just thought—”

“Why don’t you do it with her?” You ask without thinking.

The troll bites his lip with those monstrously pointy teeth.

“She . . . isn’t in this bubble, I’m afraid.” He stares back at the snow. “I’m not sure where she could be.”

 _There are plenty of other trolls you can “feelings jam” with_ , you think, but you can’t bring yourself to voice the words. Instead, you clutch yourself for warmth and sigh.

“All right. Maybe we can have a feelings jam or whatever sometime. Just no weird bucket stuff.” You bristle at the thought of Rose finding out you’ve pretty much agreed to troll therapy, but are derailed by a smile from a certain troll.

Though it’s just a slight upward twist of lips, it is the closest to a good feeling you have ever seen on a troll. You smile a bit yourself.

The good feeling is quickly quashed by the STRONG shudder of grey shoulders. Your eyebrows shoot up.

“You okay?”

“. . . It’s cold out here.”

The facepalm comes naturally. “No shit, Sherlock! Let’s get in, all ready; I’m tired of Jack Frost nipping at my balls.”

Relief falls over you and soon throwing an arm around the troll’s neck comes naturally, as well. You’re embarrassed by the gesture, but cover it with a smirk. Though Equius has to duck down a bit for your arm, he, thankfully, doesn’t complain. Look at you, like you’ve known each other since forever. Well, soon enough, you’ll be popping in Marley and Me and sobbing in each other’s arms over tubs of ice cream. That is if troll feeling jams are anything like human feeling jams.

It’s a strange way to make a friend, but you’re sure stranger things have happened on Christmas.


End file.
